Savannah: Hi.Rachel: Hi! Want me to invite Kara and Shelby into this convo?Savannah: No, tis k.Rachel: kRachel: What did you want to talk to me about?Savannah: Well, you're my closest friend out of Kara and Shelby and you.Rachel: RLY?! Savannah: Ya. You gotta swear on your pets that you don't share the contents of this conversation.Rachel: *swears on pets*Savannah: K. So, remember last Saturday?Rachel: Ya, we asked you a question and you disappeared, like that. *snaps*Savannah: Yeah. But I didn't really have to go.Savannah: I just didn't want to answer the question.Rachel: Why? D:Savannah: Cause, well, there are so many damn cliques in Miyazu. >>Rachel: WTF. WHUT IZ A CLIK!??!1

Savannah: XD

Rachel: XDSavannah: But seriously, though. I was forced to sit with the n00bs at a table right beside the bathrooms at lunch.Rachel: Eww.Savannah: I know. D=Rachel: And?Savannah: I was humiliated as well.Rachel: DON'T tell me you went Bratz?Savannah: . . .Rachel: YOU DID. WTF SAVANNAH! I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU!Savannah: Rachel, I just wanted to because I'm a nerd and. . .Rachel: Bratz wannabe. >.<Savannah: I didn't have a choice! Honestly. I dunno what came over me.Rachel: Didn't have a lot of friends?Savannah: Nope.Rachel: I understand. tis kSavannah: no tis not kRachel: kSavannah: Lol, we're talking like b00bs. XDRachel: LOLB00BS!Savannah: IT WAS A TYPO! ;-;Rachel: Sure it was. Wait, b00bs can't talk.Savannah: . . . You obviously haven't visited Satan's Fondue Party.Rachel: lolwhutSavannah: On Neoseeker. I'll give you a link, hold on a minute. BRBRachel: kRachel: *cue elevator music*Savannah: Back.Rachel: Link? Savannah: what linkRachel: The link of Satan's Fondue Party?Savannah: Oh. I went to take a crap, lol.Rachel: >>Savannah: XDRachel: XDSavannah: Remember, you share the contents of this conversation to nobody, not via writing or anything. NO SHARINGRachel: I know, I know.Savannah: . . . I trust you, Rachel.Rachel: I know, I know.Savannah is now offline.

Rachel: Ohi! =DKara: HEY! Savannah was on, but then she was like busy. >>Rachel: Eh, yeah. I talked to her.Rachel: She isn’t feeling too good.Kara: Is she sick?! Ohmygods, we’ve gotta cheer her up as soon as she logs back on!! I’ll fix her some e-chicken-noodle-soup and some hot chocolate!!!Rachel: LOL. XDKara: What?! I’m being serious over here!!!!!!1Rachel: Lol, 1. XDKara: That 1 was on accident!!!!Rachel: Sure it was.Kara: Well what did Savannah want??Rachel: Well SOMEBODY had too much caffeine today.Kara: Who?? Is it your dad?! I know he gets hyper easily even though he’s like 44 years old, but seriously, who????Rachel: I was going to say you, but then again, you always shift-1 and shift-/ a lot.Kara: WHAT DID SAVANNAH WANT!!! I WANT TO TALK TO HER MAN!!!!!!!!!Rachel: Calm down! We just talked and stuff.Kara: Yet she wouldn’t talk to me?!?!?! Wait. . . . Did you two talk about me badly?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!Rachel: No!Kara: THEN WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT!??!!Rachel: God, you’re so nosy!Kara: I’m her friend too!! I miss her too!!Rachel: FINE. I’LL TELL YOU.Kara: YAAAAY.Rachel: Shut up. >>Kara: kRachel: Okay, so she told me that she didn’t have to go a few Saturdays ago. She doesn’t really have many friends in Miyazu, she says.Kara: OH. MY. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Rachel: This is why she didn’t want me to tell you!Kara: Oh, so she thinks I’m a bad friend?!??!?! Do YOU think I’m a bad friend?!?!?Rachel: JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!Kara: Fine then!! I’m telling Shelby about Savannah’s “problem”!!!! And, I’m also telling my parents and it would be best if we all did! We could help her through this situation!!!!Rachel: *bleep* off. ><Rachel is now offline.

I blocked Kara. I shouldn’t have told her Savannah’s secret, because in the next 20 minutes the whole world would know. Hopefully the whole world didn’t include Miyazu. If it did, Savannah will personally hitchhike herself up here to Nagaokakyou and whoop my ass.

Christmas break. It just so happened to start on December 7th, which was two months after my transfer, and I was lying on my bed, bored to tears. Toshi had been sitting with us for almost a month. Each day would go the same.

“Hey, guys,” I would say, sitting down. Toshi would be fiddling with her salad with her fork.

“Hey, Savannah,” Dusty would say, offering a half-smile. Danielle would also half-smile and nod.

Shaye would unpack her lunch out of her brown paper sack and groan. “Leftover tuna-fish casserole again?” she would say, throwing the plastic container on the orange table. Danielle would giggle, which eventually leaded to a snort, and then she would shut up.

Shaye and I usually traded our lunches. I grew tired of the PB&J, and happened to like the tuna-fish casserole, even if it was leftover. I gave her my sandwich, she gave me the casserole, and we split the rest half-and-half. I’d give her one brownie; she’d give me half of her gummy bears, but not the green ones. The green ones are evil.

Shaye and I would small-talk, and Toshi, Dusty, and Danielle would remain quiet. I don’t know why the Lady Pink told me that there were six people here; there were only three when I came. Looks like her addition was off by three.

That’s how every single day at lunch went for almost two months. Every single day went like that, not differing except for the small talk. One day we would talk about Haruhi Suzumiya, the next Lucky Star, the next Tokyo Mew Mew, the next Sailor Moon. . . . You get the point.

I lay on my bed, cell phone in hand. I remembered Shaye’s words the day before. Here’s my number. If you’re bored or anything, call me at home, okay? I don’t have a cell phone. Just ask for Shaye. What thirteen-year-old girl doesn’t have a cell phone? That is the question, and it needs an answer before it drives me insane. I got my first cell phone for my tenth birthday, and I get a new one at random times each year. This year I got the iPhone from my friends.

I tapped the iPhone screen and opened my address book. Shaye’s number was programmed in, in case I left the paper in my pocket and put my pants in the washer; which was what happened. Lucky I programmed her number in, right?

The phone rings. It rings again. It rings again. It rings—

“H-hello?” this small, nervous voice answers. I think it belongs to a little boy, possibly at the age of six.

“Is Shaye there?” I ask him. I can hear him thumping up or down some stairs, and say, Shaye, it’s for you, I think it is Savannah.

“Savannah?” Shaye immediately asks. I say yes, it’s me, Savannah Neff. We talk for a while about anime, and about different things such as food and family life. Pretty soon we’re talking about some of the latest movies that have come out, and our personal ratings of the movies we hate and love. We continue like this for an hour, seven minutes, seven seconds.

“Savannah?” Shaye begins to ask me. “While we’re on the topic of movies, how about we go see a movie?”

“Today?” I reply.

I think she nods on the other end of the phone, because she says “oops” real quiet and giggles. “Yes, today. There’s a movie theater downtown, not far from my house. We could go see a movie, then spend the night at my place.”

“’Kay,” I hung up and set my iPhone on my pillow. I didn’t feel like moving, but I fought my drainage of energy and sluggishly made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. My mom’s husband is on the home phone, a black cordless, and AT&T service. This is the best time to ask Him something, because he’ll nod and say “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever, Savannah, I’m on the phone.”

And that’s exactly what happens. Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever, Savannah, I’m on the phone.

*

I’ve got a duffel bag (Conata, Lucky Star) packed with the sleepover necessities. A toothbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, underwear, a bra, extra clothes, and a bag of Fritos were some things included. I had to sneak the family-size Fritos out of the pantry and up the stairs quick and mouse-like while my mom’s husband paced into the dining room, still ranting on the phone. It was a trick that my older cousin Kelly said.

“Wait until they’re out of the room, but stand in the door way, or casually do something in the same room. Then, when they turn their back and go into another room, grab whatever out of the pantry and mad-dash on your tiptoes up to your room.”

“Works every time?” I had asked.

“Works every time.”

“Whatever” happened to be a family-size bag of Fritos, and even though it would just be me and Shaye, we’re “growing girls” and we “need our vitamins.” Aren’t Fritos made of potatoes, thus being good for you? Same with potato chips, I don’t get how it’s bad for you.

I left the house around two-thirty, and walked to Shaye’s house. It was about five miles away, but surprisingly, it only took me until three, and I said I’d arrive at three-thirty. Either way, earlier means more time to do whatever before we had to leave to get to the movie.

Shaye’s house is really nice. Its outside walls are pure white, and there’s a basement window with the curtains pulled, bright-red curtains. The curtains match the stairs up the porch, and the roof. Mexican design, right? It’s pretty, so I ring the doorbell and take three steps back. I’ve been told to do this. You might get hit in the face with the door or seem too eager.

A little boy opens the door, even though he’s about halfway to the doorknob. I bend down, and I’m on my knees, looking at him. I smile. He smiles.

“I’m here to see Shaye,” I say. He turns his head and shouts over his shoulder, very loudly. Very loudly indeed.

“Sha-AAAAAYE! Your friend is here!”

I can see the stairs from the doorway, and they’re carpeted a cream color. Blue fluffy socks make their way down, until they match up with the body of Shaye. She smiles. I smile. “Shawn, go down to the basement, I think Shane messed up the WiiFit again.”

“Again?” so-called Shawn whines. “How many times can that boy mess something up?”

By then I’ve realized that Shawn is definitely one of those big things that come in small packages. Once he’s gone down the stairs, Shaye gives me this lopsided grin. “Seventeen-year-olds, what are you gonna do?”

“S-seventeen years old—?” I spluttered. I’ve heard of birth defects, but never would someone live to seventeen and be a third as tall as a door. But what Shaye does is smile at me, like I’m stupid, like I don’t get an obvious joke after it’s been explained seventy-three-hundred times.

“It’s a joke,” she finally says. “Since he’s so loud and mature, we say he’s just seventeen with stunted growth. Shawn is really four.”

She looks at me for a minute, hoping that I’d laugh. When I don’t, she opens the door all the way and I can see the hallway clearly. There’s a cream carpet and beige walls. There are stairs upstairs and a door, three archways. I can hear yelling downstairs, and I assume that it’s Shane and Shawn having a go at each other for breaking the WiiFit.

“May I show you upstairs?” Shaye says. I nod, and we climb up the cream-carpeted stairs. The railings are shiny, and I run my fingers up them as we climb. There’s the landing upstairs, with cream carpet, beige walls. She flops onto a ruby-red armchair and pats the on next to her. I sit in it, and it’s very soft and squishy.

“Press the button on the left side,” she instructs, and takes a Vista laptop out of a computer case. While it powers up, I press the button, and the chair vibrates. Everywhere, and super-vibrate under my butt. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt, or feel weird. It feels good.

The Vista powers up. Shaye goes to Google and types in “Movies December 2008” and clicks on the first link. There are a lot of movie listings and Shaye makes sure the font is the smallest it can be so all the titles are on one page. Shaye closes her eyes and winds her finger in front of the screen, like a five-year-old can’t decide what toy to get and has to do eeny-meeny-miny-mo. When she opens her eyes, her finger is over one movie whose title already sounds moronic.

“‘The Noble Pants of Pantsica?’” I say, squinting at the screen to make sure I’ve seen the title right. “I’ve never heard of such a movie.”

“Apparently it’s based on a book.” Shaye giggles. “But that book obviously hasn’t been a bestseller, has it?”

“No it has not.”

Shaye clicks on the title for more information, and, thank the Lord, makes the font normal sized. I can’t see that tiny font that she had it on.

“‘The Noble Pants of Pantsica is about Peggy and Pelly Pants, who founded the great Pantsica. They are both in love with Perry Pants, but neither knows that he is a womanizer, or in more common terminology, a player. When Perry Pants gets stuck in the small empty space of randomness, Peggy and Pelly have to unite to save Perry. What will happen? See it in theaters December 3rd, 2008. Based on the book, Pantsica’s Pants Unite.’” Shaye read off.

“It sounds stupid,” I said.

“It’s got a rating of one and a half out of five stars,” Shaye said. “But, this is how I always decide to go to movies. Most of the movies in my DVD rack are movies nobody has heard of, or have gotten bad reviews. I think that it’s fun to decide movies this way; you never know what you get.”

I suddenly realized that I still had my bag with me, and that the vibrating under my butt was starting to get uncomfortable. Shaye giggles, because she too had just realized that. It’s like we’re two peas in a pod, as my mother’s husband would say. So, Shaye leads me down the hallway and stops in front of a beige door.

“Are you ready to step into the land of anime?”

“I’m ready,” I reply. Shaye grips the door handle, and for a second, I swear I can hear dramatic movie music thundering behind us. Maybe I’m hallucinating, or I haven’t had enough sleep, or maybe it’s her demeanor and the way she’s holding onto the handle. Either way, when she swung the door open, the music peaked and softened when I stepped onto a fluffy red rug.

Her room is impossible to describe. The floors and walls are dark red and black, and on one wall is a huge bookshelf full of mangas. One shelf is labeled for each series, no matter how short. Another bookshelf holds tons and tons of DVD’s, and another holds regular novels and novellas, and a few books of compiled short stories. She has many posters of different animes and mangas on the wall, and my favorite has to be one of Usui (from Chibi Vampire, or Karin).

Her bed is very wide and long. The covers are blood-red and the Tokyo Mew Mew team is pointing dramatically at the ceiling from the covers. The same design is for the pillows, as well. In one corner is a black desk, which is cluttered and holds a laptop and many anime drawings. An easel is against one wall, and the painting is so far a gray rose. Overall look: plain awesome!

“You like?” she asks, and takes my bag and throws it at a wall. It lands on the floor with a thud, and I nod, still staring at the posters on the walls and ceiling. “Yeah, you can tell I’m an otaku. Otaku meaning anime fan.”

“I know,” I tell her. “Your room is just so amazingly awesome.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that,” Shaye says, and looks at me with a huge grin on her face.

I've been really enjoying it so far. It has a chance to go really far, but the thing is though - you can tell it's a fanfic. XD Your story is really flowing and stuff, but if you plan to publish, like try to write it in a style more for a book. Get what I mean sorta? X3

I don't mean to publish this, just to write it so I can get feedback, and make continuous until it's really, really good, and use it for reference when I make other stories. =D And yes, I get what you mean sorta. X3

Once again, a single unlikely sentence leaves me staring at Shaye like she’s gone mad. “What do you mean by that, Shaye?” I asked. She shrugged at me.

“You know, Shaye, this is your room,” I said, in a more stern voice than usual. Shaye shrugged again and looked at the floor. Once I saw the look in her eyes and thought about what I said for two seconds, I knew I sounded like a frustrated mom that says, “Hikari! This test was easy, we studied, why did you fail?” The child just shrugs and looks at their feet guiltily, not being able to say why she failed. I was the angry mom, and Shaye was the guilty child.

Finally, Shaye looked up and spoke to me. The guilty daughter is about to confess. “Well, I haven’t exactly been talking to anybody since Kindergarten. It’s a long story about something stupid,” she mumbled.

“Long story short?” I prompted her.

“Long story short, I was an otaku and everybody thought I was a freak, always talking about Sailor Moon; the Japanese. Sure, everybody watched the English one, but I talked about how Usagi is not Serena, and nobody could even pronounce her Japanese name. One person said ‘Hey, that’s weird, watching Japanese shows!’ and I was shunned. The End.”

She sat on her bed, legs crossed. I pulled her padded desk chair over and sat on it backwards, facing Shaye. “Shaye, I have something important to tell you,” I said, my voice monotone, flat, serious. “Being an otaku is nothing to be made fun of. Yes, I got made fun of at school because of my bag, but who really cares? If you’re an otaku you’re an otaku. The End.”

“Thanks, Savannah,” she said, getting up from her bed. “The reason I didn’t talk to anyone for so long, though, is because everybody kept getting in the same classes as me. I was still an otaku, and obviously still am, so nobody liked me. They all watched their damned English animes.”

“We’re gonna miss the movie,” I said, quickly switching the topic. I liked the peppy, happy, anime-loving Shaye, not the one who’s talking about not having any friends and being made fun of. Though I can relate, I still didn’t like her talking about it. I could sense she was happy when she got up and led me out the room and down the stairs.

I could hear arguing from the open door that led to the basement, and it sounded like Shawn and Shane were having an argument over who would play Super Paper Mario on the Wii first. Shaye quickly closed the door, and I followed her out the front door and down the sidewalk; after grabbing our coats, of course.

I decided to tell her about Rachel.

“Shaye?” I asked. Shaye looked at me as we walked, and stopped at the “Don’t walk” sign. “Shaye, I confided in my friend in something I probably shouldn’t have told anyone at my old town. I think she might have said something. Can I get your thoughts on this?”

After a minute and the sign changed to “Walk,” Shaye spoke. “Is she the friend that’s likely to spill a secret?”

I thought of Rachel, and a promise I had told her in first grade, not to tell anybody that I had wet my pants at a sleepover. That was about six or seven years ago, and she hadn’t said a word to anybody. “No,” I said. “No, she wouldn’t spill a secret.”

“When did you tell her this secret?” Shaye inquires as we cross the street and continue walking. “If it was a long time ago, she may have forgotten.”

“I told her around two, maybe three weeks ago. It was on a Saturday, via MSN.”

“It’s possible she may have forgotten. What’s her name?”

“Rachel.”

“Ah . . .” a smile spreads across Shaye’s face. “I remember you talking about Rachel at lunch once. You said she was a good friend; and funny as well. Tall, though, very tall, you said she was. Now, if this is the Rachel I remember you talking about, then why do you think she told a secret?”

“She’s friends with Kara.” I say. “Did I tell you about her?” She shook her head no. “She keeps pestering people until they tell secrets. She’s annoying, very annoying; Kara is impossible to describe in words, how bad she is—but at the same time, she’s a good friend.”

“So you suspect that Kara got the truth out of Rachel?” Shaye asked. “This secret, you think Kara might have gotten Rachel to talk—or type, if it was via the computer.”

“I suspect that very much,” I said. “Kara is the Kira of Secret-Keeping.”

“But Rachel’s a good friend, as you say, and she wouldn’t tell a secret. Why would she tell Kara?”

I thought for a minute. Why would Rachel spill the secret?

“Kara pesters and pesters,” I finally say. “She would’ve gotten a secret out of anyone.”

“Are you just saying this because you don’t trust Rachel?” Shaye counters. Before she can say anymore, my phone rings. I dig it out of my jeans’ pocket.

“Hello?” I say.

“Savannah?” I hear Rachel’s voice. Oh no. “Savannah, it’s me. I need to tell you something. About that thing you told me, that you didn’t have a lot of friends?”

“Yeah?” I could feel bad news already.

“Kara made me tell, and she said that she’s going to tell her parents and Shelby. I don’t see why it’s a big deal, though, that you don’t have a lot of friends—”

“Oh, next time you move away and don’t have a lot of friends, tell yourself that ‘it’s not a big deal’!” I cried in rage. I didn’t know why I was so mad, but I pressed “End.” I had no idea why I was so mad lately. Perhaps it was the sudden move, or the fact that my best friend told a secret. It wasn’t a big secret, but I had trusted her not to tell anybody, who would probably overreact.

And before I knew it, Shaye and I were standing in front of a movie theater, the aroma of popcorn flooding our nostrils.

chapter ten is done. it's four pages on microsoft word, which is the longest chapter in this story. XD [sure it's not really a long chapter, but it's a start. :D]

C h a p t e r – t e n : : :

December quickly turned into January, Christmas passing by without anything exciting. Shaye and I were best friends by the time school started again, and overall, life was starting to look upwards. I had even gotten Shaye’s MSN and Yahoo, and her e-mail. And, on top of that, we were walking to and from school together. Her mom would drop Shaye off at my house in the mornings for breakfast—my mom and her husband approved of Shaye, and were glad that I was making a friend—and then together we’d walk to school. Shaye’s mom didn’t care either; she was glad that Shaye was making a friend.

One could say that it worked out well.

The only conflict time was lunch. Dusty and her brother what’s-his-face (Shaye and I never pay attention to them anymore, they’re quiet and only speak to each other) stopped eating one morning. I had asked them why they weren’t eating, and Dusty simply said, “Because we’re fat, stupid.”

And after that, Shaye and I stopped even acknowledging their presence, and tried to reform Toshi into being a good girl. Toshi was being like me and Shaye—not paying attention to Dusty and her brother, but also not to us. Sometimes she wouldn’t even show up at lunch.

“Maybe she’s gone back to her group,” Shaye suggested one day, looking around the cafeteria. “She hasn’t been here for days.”

“No, I don’t see her over there,” I told her, looking at the popular table. “But, it doesn’t matter. I just thought we could get Toshi to be nice, you know? Her friends and being popular were like drugs, and I thought we would be the rehab.”

“It’s from this unpublished novella I saw in the Writers’ Lounge, on Neoseeker.”

“Oh. Have you heard of this awesome anime, Azumanga Daioh?”

***

January turned into February, which slowly turned into March. Near the end of March was Spring break, and I was in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool at the island, watching the TV that hung above the stove in replacement of cabinets. I was watching my little sister’s Bill Nye the Science Guy DVD, since there was nothing else on TV except for the Nick Jr. or Playhouse Disney stuff.

I’m sure she won’t mind. In fact, she’d probably just join me—she loves the episode about Newton’s Laws of Motion.

It was about eleven o’clock when the DVD ended. I pressed a button on the remote, and out came the disc from the DVD player. I put it back in the case, and went up to my room. I opened up my new white Macbook Air and logged onto MSN. Nobody was online, not even Shaye. She was probably sleeping in, I thought. She usually did this during school breaks or on weekends.

I heard movement outside my room—that obviously meant that my parents were waking up, because of Hannah’s stereo blaring loudly. I could hear it playing some Hannah Montana song. Hey, they shared the same name. She was always criticizing me about listening to stupid adult music, when Hannah Montana was the best ever. Oh, please—Coheed and Cambria were way better than some stupid ten-year-old pop princess in a blonde wig and sparkly clothes.

My bedroom door opened without warning. I didn’t even have to turn around, and I knew it was my mother’s husband.

“Savannie? Can I speak to you for a minute?” he asked.

“It’s Savannah. Not Savannie—I’m not like Hannah, I outgrew those pet names,” I said. He apparently took that as a yes, closed my bedroom door, and sat down on my bed. “What do you want?” I asked after a minute of silence.

“Well,” he began, as if he was looking for the right choice of words. “You remember how we used to live in Nagaokakyou?”

“Yeah. Are we moving back?” I asked, trying to keep my voice airy, and uninterested. But inside, my heart was beating as if the winners of the Kids Choice Awards were being announced. Yes, even though I’m in the eighth grade, I still watch the KCA every year, and I get so nervous about who won. I’m a nerd like that.

“That’s your choice, Savannah,” my mother’s husband said, after some careful consideration of what to say.

“What do you mean?” I asked him uneasily. I didn’t exactly like where this was going. Was this good or bad? “Do I get to choose if we move or not?”

“Not necessarily ‘we’…” he trailed off, and looked at my window.

“Listen, dad, just tell me,” I said. I didn’t want to call him dad, because he was my mother’s husband. Not my father. “Just tell me straight-up and I’ll be able to understand.”

“Are you sure, Savannie?” he asked. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Stupid… person, I thought to myself bitterly. He hurt me by making us move to Miyazu. The only thing good about this was Shaye.

“It’s Savannah. Not Savannie,” I corrected him again. Didn’t I just tell him that I was over the stupid kiddie names? “Just go ahead and tell me. Be blunt about it, don’t think about my feelings, like when you said ‘Guess what! We’re moving to this nice town in Florida because I got this big promotion!’”

He looked a bit offended, but nonetheless told me what he was thinking, straight-up and blunt. “Your mother and I are getting a divorce, Savannah, dear.”

“April Fool’s day is tomorrow, Savannah,” he told me. He stood, walked over to me, and put an arm on my shoulder. I shrugged his hand away and walked over to my desk. I sat in the spinny-chair. I felt like crying—my mother and her husband had always gotten along so well—at least until recently, after the move. Mother had been a bit crabby, I thought, but around me they just bickered like they normally would, about little small stuff. But I guess a lot more was happening behind the scenes. A divorce-worthy action must have been done.

“Why?” I asked him, looking up into his brown eyes. “Why are you divorcing?”

“It’s something you, me, and your mother would have to discuss as a family.”

“What about Hannah?”

“She’s only ten, Savannah.”

“She should know why.”

“You should tell her. She looks up to you. Just tell her that mommy and daddy haven’t been getting along lately.”

“Where are we all going to live?”

“You’re full of questions, Savannah.”

“You should be full of answers. Just tell me where we’d live.”

“This is something we should discuss as a family,” he said sternly. His eyes were narrowed ever-so-slightly, but it made me cringe. He was starting to get mad, a rocket about to blast off. “When Hannah goes to her friends’ house this afternoon—what’s that girls’ name, again?”

“Lauren?” I supplied for him.

“Yes, she—when Hannah goes to see her, you, me, and your mother can have a family discussion. But, on the vague hints your mother has dropped, it seems as though she’s planning to move back to Nagaokakyou,” he told me. He crossed my room, and opened my door. “That’s all I’ll tell you for now. But you just talk to your friends, and when Hannie-banannie is gone we can have a talk. Okay?”

I nodded, disregarding the stupid pet name he had given his second daughter. My mind was racing with questions that needed to be answered. I could surely ask them during the “family discussion” my mother’s husband was talking about. First off, why where they getting a divorce? Was one of them cheating, did they just not fit together anymore?

Secondly, where would everybody live? I know dad would stay in Miyazu, for his job. But where would mom, Hannah and I go? The “vague hints” said that mom would go back to Nagaokakyou, but what about me and Hannah? Would we just decide, mom or dad? I didn’t want to hurt my mom, or her husband in any way… or rather, her ex-husband.

My dad. Not my mom’s husband anymore, not her ex-husband, but my dad. Robert Neff.

This would be a tough decision, choosing between my mother and my father. Luckily, I didn’t have to brood on this anymore, as the familiar ding of MSN signaled that somebody was online: Rainbow Rachel has logged in.

I shouldn’t tell Rachel—I was mad at her.

Like a chain reaction, Krazy Kara logged in. I shouldn’t tell her, within twenty minutes all of Nagaokakyou would know about it.

Silly Shelby probably wasn’t a good bet either. I could tell her, but she’d tell Rachel and Kara, who would in turn tell everybody else. Finally, Shaye the Otaku <3 logged in—the perfect person to tell about this.

I clicked on the “Shaye the Otaku <3 has logged in” box, and opened up a conversation with Shaye. I then told her every single detail—the Nagaokakyou, the divorce, the “family discussion”, and even about Hannah and her Hannah Montana music. When I was done, I leaned back in my chair, waiting for an answer, one that a good friend would give me.

After a couple hours of talking to Shaye, I heard a door slam quite loudly—a signal that Hannah was gone. She always slams doors extremely hard. She has quite a bit of strength for a ten-year-old. I quickly typed a message to Shaye.

I exited out of MSN, closed my Macbook Air, and strode from the computer desk to my door. I wrenched it open, and walked down the stairs. Mom was waiting for me at the foot of the staircase, as if she was just about to go up to get me. I smiled at her, and walked with her over to the kitchen. The two of us passed through the kitchen, and into the living room. My dad was sitting in the lounge chair he had dubbed as his own, the tan one with a blue plaid blanket hanging over the top of it.

Mom sat in her own recliner, and I lay on the couch. I looked from my mom, who was looking rather timid and shy in her chair, to my father, who was leaning back, smoking a cigarette. I hated when he did that, smoking cigarettes like it’s nothing. Then again, he only smokes when he’s stressed out, or angry. This was definitely one of those times.

“Robert, please put that cigarette out,” my mother said, after a silence that lasted a couple of minutes.

“Why should I?” my dad retorted, taking a big puff of his cigarette. “You’ve never complained about it before, neither has Savannah or Hannah.”

“Well, we’re talking as a family, and it would be hard to talk with poison in your mouth, wouldn’t it be?” mom snapped. She went from timid to angry in ten seconds; amazing. Dad did as he was told, and put out his cigarette in the ashtray, like a teenage boy being asked by a stubborn parent to turn off his video games. Silence followed that, for quite awhile. I didn’t know what to say—neither did they.

“So…” I finally said. I looked at the clock—it had been exactly twenty minutes since Hannah had left. “What are we going to talk about?”

“Well, didn’t you say you had a lot of questions?” my dad asked me, pulling out the footrest on his recliner. I nodded to him. “Fire away, Savannah. We won’t deny anything, or put anything off.”

This was wonderful, I thought. Any questions I asked wouldn’t be denied, or put off for another time. I sat up, but leaned back on the sofa. I didn’t know which question to start off with first. So, I asked the basic question. “Where would Hannah and I go?”

“That is really up to you two,” mom said quickly, before dad could say his answer. “If you’d want to live with Robert, that would be fine or if you wanted to live with me that would be fine, too. Same goes for Hannah.”

I nodded, to show I understood. “This kinda branches off of my first question, but where exactly would you live, mom, and you, dad?” I asked them.

“I’m going to be staying in this house,” dad said quickly, before mom could even open her mouth. “I don’t know about Dianne, though.”

“I don’t know either,” my mother said, looking at me in my eyes. I tucked my dirty-blonde hair behind my ears, and brushed a few loose strands out of my face. I scowled at her in mock teenage anger—she did say that she wouldn’t put off any answers. She smiled the motherly smile that I loved. “I’m probably moving back to Nagaokakyou, or possibly downtown Miyazu, in your friend Shaye’s neighborhood. There’s this really nice house that’s for sale over there, and I can just take out a loan to afford the down payment.”

I nodded again, and then turned to my dad. “So you’d live here, in this house? What would you do with Hannah’s room and my room? Turn them into a rec center? Another guest bedroom?”

“I haven’t thought of that yet. It depends on whether or not you and Hannie are staying with me or not,” he said, sighing heavily. He was probably trying to lay the guilt on me. But the thing is, I was actually considering going to live with my mother, even if it did mean moving back to Nagaokakyou and abandoning Shaye. But I could probably convince her to move into that house in Shaye’s neighborhood.

“Okay, so that’s solved,” I said, sighing myself. “Next question, when will this divorce be certified, absolutely certain? And when would mom and possibly me and-or Hannah move out?”

“It should be legally a divorce on your birthday. Dianne would move out not long later,” dad said, grinning at me. I saw how he only said Dianne, and not “Dianne and possibly you kids”. I spot some details like that. So, I simply nodded at him.

“Just don’t talk about this on my birthday, okay?” I told them, my voice cracking a little. Sure, I was asking these questions, but—I never knew that this would be so soon. My birthday was on April the thirteenth, exactly two weeks away. And sure, these last few months I admit I’ve been really pissed off at dad—but come on! It was a divorce! They wouldn’t live together, and I’d have to choose between them. That was something I could never, ever, ever do, even if I was almost fourteen.

Mom nodded at me, offering a small smile. I really loved my mom, and—I had to admit, I’d probably chose her over my dad. But I couldn’t stand barely being able to see my dad. Hannah, I could deal with not seeing, but my dad or my mom… it would be unbearable. I’d have to hold off my questions for later, as my vision was starting to blur. If I blinked, the tears would start rolling.

“Just one more question for now,” I said, voice shaking. I was trying hard not to blink, because once the tears went down my face, they couldn’t stop for awhile. “W-why are you get-t-ting a d-divorce?” I couldn’t help it. My voice was shaking, I was shaking, and the tears were rolling down my face like Niagara Falls. I wiped some of them away with my long-sleeved Ohio State shirt that my cousin had sent me from Ohio a couple of years ago, and looked at my parents, who were stone-faced.

“Ju-u-st tell m-me!” I spluttered, some of the salty tears splashing into my mouth and onto my tongue. “Why is this happening?!” I raised my voice, and stood, then pointed an accusing finger at my father. “Is it y-your f-fault? It was y-your f-fault w-when we m-m-moved across the c-country!”

He stood as well, after wrestling the footrest back into the recliner. He strode over to me, and was in my face within a matter of seconds. His eyes were mere slits, and I stepped away. I could tell he was going to blow a gasket right now.

“IT’S THAT BITCH’S FAULT!” he yelled, with no regards to cursing around me. He glared at my mother, who got up from her lounge chair, too. “YELLING AT ME ALL THE TIME BECAUSE OF THE LITTLEST DAMN THINGS!”

“SAYS THE PERSON WHO CHEATED ON ME AND TRIED TO MAKE UP FOR IT FOR SEX LAST NIGHT!” my mother fired back. She looked at me apologetically—I just shrugged, as if to say that it was no big deal that she just said sex in front of me. But the fact that my dad had cheated—just made the tears come a lot heavier, and the shrug was very shaky.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HER!” he yelled at me. “SHE’S A LIAR!”

I didn’t say anything more. I just pushed past the two of them, into the kitchen, and I knocked a glass of Pepsi off of the counter and onto the floor. The glass shattered, and Pepsi spilled everywhere, but I didn’t have time to get a good glimpse of the aftermath. I stormed up to my room, making sure to stomp hard on the stairs and slam the door harder than Hannah ever could. Once I was on MSN, I started talking to Shaye, tears still running down my freckled cheeks.

And, once again, she gave me great sympathy and made me happy—she’s a great friend.